


What Will We Do With A Drunken Whaler?

by bellefire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aaaaaand, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, All wolves are still wolves, Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, Betrayal, Dishonored AU, Enemies to Lovers, Kidnapping, Kira and Stiles are kitsune, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Murder, Non-con only relating to some kissing in pt 1, Not Beta Read, Revenge, Secrets, all that good stuff, kinda steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellefire/pseuds/bellefire
Summary: “If you leave me alive I will find you. I will track you all down. I will get my daughter back.” Chris swears.The alpha saunters over and drops to Chris’ eye level, the next kiss is a soft and chaste little thing yet somehow crueler. The alpha hums, “I hope you do, Christopher. I really do.”





	What Will We Do With A Drunken Whaler?

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the dishonored universe (not exactly tho bc hey werewolves) but isn't a retelling of that storyline. I have a habit of separating children from their parents...don't know why. Weird.

 

**What Will We Do With A Drunken Whaler?**

 

**Part One:**

  
_Stuff Him in a Sack and Throw Him Over_

 

 

Kate’s made modifications to the family’s grand carriage. Massive silver spoked wheels, fresh coat of black paint, and six armored black horses to pull the beast where once two would have been sufficient. She’s had the whole thing reinforced as well. The barred windows look like expensive filigree rather than the paranoia they truly are. It’s rigged with power, proof that Kate’s spent too much time in the high societies of Dunwall, a costly luxury for a horse-drawn carriage.

  
The sight of it nearing his manor’s gates fills Chris’ stomach with cold stones. His father’s old veiled threats are suddenly much more tangible. No, those threats had always been real, but now things are different. Yesterday Allison turned thirteen.

  
Thirteen and so bright-eyed and full of cheer she was the complete antithesis of everything Chris is. That’s why he’s been protecting her, she’s not meant for any world but the one of light. If Chris can help it Allison will never know that the fleur de lis she wears around her neck is also the same symbol branded into weapons that are driven into the hearts of monsters. She is warmth, far too warm for the destiny of the Argent name.

  
The Argents are one of the few last great hunting families left. Most have died off in service of their trade, the rest by the march of progress. Women are supposed to be the leaders of their clan but after Chris’ mother died his father has taken that role, his sister seemed content to let their father have her place. Kate waved it off with something about hating paper work and preferring the road.

  
Allison is next in line.

  
His father, Gerard, loved to say family was the most important thing, that when they as individuals have turned to ash the family would remain. Gerard did not look at Allison like family. He looked upon her with the keen gleam Chris recognized. To him she’s a pawn. Another Kate. Kate for all her flaws is not stupid either, she knows how she’s used that too she seems not to mind. Some people are born to be blades, born soldiers, some relished gun smoke and the thrill of the chase.

  
With his wife buried for two years now Chris has no help against them. This late at night with no forewarning? They could only be here for Allison. He’s well aware Gerard could bury him if he wanted, if not literally then financially. The plague is more or less gone from Dunwall and most of the outer regions and the whole of the Isles were on the rebound under the enlightened rule of Empress Kaldwin, however the economy remains fragile. Companies crumbled all the time, no one would bat an eye if Chris’ enterprises shuttered and fell. Alone he’s no match for Argent oil.

  
Kate’s the first to exit the carriage, she’s in her usual mix of bespoke faux military dress accented with noble ladies’ lace not dissimilar to the style the empress favored. Obviously on purpose except the empress doesn’t sport that plunging neckline. She grins up at the house as if she knows Chris is watching from behind the stained glass windows of his study. It would be unnerving for anyone else however Chris is her big brother and he knows the Argent way is to appear like you already knew everything there is to know and when you don’t: fake it. Gerard follows shortly after wielding a cane the man doesn’t need.

  
“My Lord,” Chris’ steward announces from the doorway of the dimly lit study, “Lady Katherine and Lord Argent have arrived.”

  
“I can see that.” Chris says drily, he eyes the crystal decanter of brandy on his desk. The decanter is half empty already, he’s willing to bet he will be seeing the bottom by the end of the evening.

  
Thunder rumbles outside miles away, the rain would be there before the dawn. Chris stares out the window, servants are running around below hurrying to light the exterior lamps that weren’t linked to the whale oil-fueled heart of the house that keeps them all warm. Argents own half the whaling ships in Dunwall Harbor which is the only reason the fact that the Argents weren’t true blue-blooded aristocrats is largely overlooked save behind closed doors. Rich, yes, but not the right kind. Which has worked well for the family over the decades. Hunters needed some amount of privacy after all, whalers by day, hunters under the moon, either way there’s blood to be spilled. Chris’ thirst for either was always too lacking for Gerard. Kate more than made up for him.

  
“Shall I leave them to wait a while, sir?” the steward, a dignified old man by the name of Lance, sounds tentatively amused. That’s how all the help around the house have been around him since Victoria passed. Tentative.

  
Chris smirks, “No. No that won’t be necessary. Though, I won’t be rushing either.”

  
“As you say, my Lord.” The steward bows slightly then retreats. Technically Chris has no title to speak of yet the servants of the previous family came with the purchase of the estate a few years before and they didn’t quite know how to address a wealthy family like them. He’d discouraged it initially but he remembered the first time the cook addressed Allison as ‘my lady’, she had lit up brighter than the sun.

  
Absently Chris fingers the line along his shoulder where he can feel his pistol holster beneath his coat. The pistol is a sense of security he hasn’t had to actually use since his ‘retirement’. At this point it’s akin to Allison’s favorite doll she keeps close at night despite swearing up and down in the day light she is too old for such things. The stones in his gut tell him to check the ammunition and safety, just in case.

  
Expecting a doorman to hurl their anger at his sister’s and father’s faces aren’t schooled into a semblance of politeness when Chris opens the front door for them after taking his sweet time down to the first floor. He bears his teeth at them—a facsimile of a smile.

  
Without missing a beat Kate grins back, “Don’t you have people to answer doors for you? What will the neighbors say?” She’s joking in that strangely sincere way she does around Chris.

Obviously he has no neighbors, the estate sits on land between the coast and a significant parcel of woodland yet to be cut down for industry. He’s close enough to the city to send Allison to school there but far enough away to not have to look at anything resembling a rail way.

  
He sighs and swings the door wide open. Kate shoulders in pressing swift kiss to his cheek as she passes.

  
“Never could remember any of that etiquette training could you, son?” Gerard says.

  
Chris shuts the door and takes his father’s coat, “I retained the important training.”

  
Gerard scoffs, “Debatable. It’s been a long ride, Christopher, we are not beasts let us get some wine. We have much to discuss and quickly.”

  
“That’s why you’re here? To talk?”

  
Gerard smiles at his son’s disbelief, whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a squeal of absolute delight.

  
“Aunt Kate!” Allison is a mass of shiny black curls and white chiffon barreling down the grand staircase towards her aunt, Chris frowns, she’s been running around without shoes again.

  
Kate goes to one knee and holds her arms open to catch the excited girl then lifts her up twirling them both around in a firm hug. For a precious moment Chris can forget about everything, his sister is just his sister and the only other person other than her father Allison unabashedly adores. It’s not surprising Allison looks up to her, Kate’s a modern well-traveled woman and while she is first her father’s daughter Kate has always been nothing but attentive to Allison.

  
Aside Gerard says, “The girl could use more of a womanly influence.”

  
And just like that the moment is shattered.  
Chris grits his teeth, keeps his voice low so Allison doesn’t hear them, “If you think you’re here to take—”

  
“Son,” Gerard cuts in, the weight of his one word is like an anchor, an anchor that could drag a fleet to a full stop, “I know we have our differences. However I’m here out of love. Love for my family, and my priority to protect them. Now, why don’t you and I have a talk somewhere more private, let the young ladies catch up.”

  
Chris knows an order when he hears it and he won’t get anywhere trying to fight this one even on principal, “Fine.”

  
Thirteen and star struck by her dear aunt, Allison is seemingly ready and willing to let her father and grandfather keep their secrets and go off without her. Although Chris catches a thoughtful glimmer in his daughter’s eyes before heading up the grand staircase. His little girl is sharp, so very sharp without sacrificing any kindness. That’s all a parent could ask for.

  
Back in his study Gerard lingers by the windows peering out with the same look he’d have approaching enemy territory. The stained glass cuts red light across Gerard’s face making the age lines marring his face deeper, the twist of his mouth crueler.

  
“Dad?” Chris prompts.

  
“I was prepared to wait for a good long while. For you to be ready, and for Allison to be ready. I want you to know that, son. There’ll be no hiding the truth after though.”

  
“What have you done?” Chris demands, fearing…he’s not sure what. The worst. Gerard is always capable of the worst.

  
With none of his preferred wine to be found Gerard pours himself some brandy, “According to Katie’s source, there’s a contract out on Argent blood.”

  
Confused, Chris shakes his head, “We’ve dealt with assassins before.”

  
Gerard takes a drink and has the audacity to look disappointed in Chris, “The word is, the contract was taken up by The Pack.”

  
“You can’t be serious.” Chris goes ahead and pours himself a glass too, “If The Pack has a contract out we wouldn’t know about it, if they even exist—which I seriously doubt.”

  
“Werewolves exist, assassins exist. Is it such a great leap to put the two together? The bastards probably tore at each other’s throats to get a chance at the Argents.” Gerard returns to standing vigil at the window. His eyes dart back and forth.

  
Chris blinks, “You’re afraid.”

  
“For our family, Christopher,” Gerard turns but keeps his back to the book shelves, his voice rises into that of his beloved role of orator—always the general, no battlefield needed, “The ruling classes are in shambles! Any allies we may have had are too busy covering their own asses or groveling to that little girl on the throne. The people are turning to vile magics again causing mayhem for the other hunter families. Do you understand? We are on our own. Vulnerable. And now? The wolves are at the door. The timing could not be more opportune for them.”

  
Chris takes in the information as cool and logically as he’s able. He hates to think it, but his father appears genuinely upset. For him and Kate to show up out of the blue claiming assassins are coming for them…Chris believes him. He may not believe in a pack of supernatural assassins whispered about in taverns and dark alleys but he did believe in the stone-cold necessity of Gerard Argent. Kate’s contacts weren’t anything to be dismissive of either. Shit.

  
“What do you propose?”

  
“I’ve a ship, just up the coast. This is the last stop Katie and I had to make. Get your things together and of course Allison. Call it an impromptu family holiday, call it whatever you like but we must leave. Tonight. Once we’re out on the water, well away from this pestilence-filled country, we’ll make plans, shore up resources.”

  
“Fine.” Chris’ easy acceptance throws the older man for a moment. It’s a small petty victory, still Chris feels the need to explain, “If there’s the smallest chance you’re right Allison’s in danger. I won’t tolerate that. No hunting talk—”

  
“Unless absolutely necessary.”

  
The two veteran hunters stare each other down for a long tense second.

  
“If there comes a time for my daughter to learn more about…the family business, then I will be the one to tell her and only, only, if there’s no other choice.” Chris says deadly calm.

  
Gerard smiles, “Of course. Will you be able to leave within the hour? We’ve timed our arrival so we may journey under the cover of night.”

  
Chris doesn’t point out if trained supernatural killers were coming for them nightfall would only be to their enemy’s advantage—hunters are still human and blind in the dark, rather he nods and calls in his steward. After giving the orders to pack and ready them for traveling the sense of urgency grows. He’d gotten too used to his quiet country life, it’s been too long since a threat was brought to his doorstep. Too long and he’d almost forgotten—hunters didn’t get to retire. It would be easy to blame Gerard, righteous even, but Chris knew deep down this life would not last forever. The past always comes calling.

  
Allison accepts having to leave with a pleasant, “Certainly, Father.” Too easily, Chris knows without a doubt he’ll be paying for this in some way or another for months.

  
The carriage is packed up with military efficiency, just as quickly the entire Argent family are out of the warmly lit drive and into the unfavorable weather. Their driver runs the horses at a breakneck speed, jostling them roughly even with the expensive suspension Kate no doubt insisted upon. Kate herself keeps peering through the filigree bars out the window. Her wariness is blatant, she’s not even trying to keep up appearances in front of Allison. It’s out of character for her, or maybe out of character for the person she’s always been when Allison is looking. The switch leaves Chris unmoored.

  
Gerard tries to engage Allison in conversation, education plans and the like, the old man is being so obvious Chris has to grind his teeth against any discourteous words in listening distance of his daughter. Gerard’s barrage of questions only stop when a loud bout of thunder makes Allison jump, her grandfather gives her an incredibly dissatisfied look. She crowds in closer into Chris’ side until he lifts his arm and cradles her against him in a way she hasn’t allowed since she was younger. The simple act of affection makes his father frown even more.

  
Another crack of thunder explodes across the night sky. Then another, the storm is all around them closing in as the horses try to beat the threat of a downpour. The next thunder clap shakes the carriage but this one echoes out into a strange distorted almost-howl. Kate and Gerard tense, Chris gently dislodges Allison to peer outside himself.

  
Tall spindly trees blur by, the darkness is thick only broken up by the errant flash of lightening briefly illuminating the woods in a white-blue glow. Chris ignores the forming lump in his throat and strains the hunter senses he’s left neglected for years. Behind the weather and wild another howl echoes from the woods. There’s a chance they passed a rare wolf, or the less rare wild wolfhound. A small chance. Yet all of Chris’ instincts are screaming at him. Dropping all pretenses Kate leans down between her legs and retrieves a rifle from beneath the seats. She kisses the barrel and gives Chris a bloodthirsty smile.

  
“Dad!?” Allison exclaims.

  
“Quiet, girl!” Gerard barks viciously.

  
Chris opens his mouth, furious at anyone talking to his daughter that way, but his words are cut off by eerie inhuman whistling coming from somewhere around them. Whatever it is easily keeps pace with Kate’s monstrous wheeled contraption. The whistling is a simple little sea shanty, one every sailor in the country knows. Carried against the wind like this the melody sounds like a threat. Chris always found the song fucking creepy to be perfectly honest, even if he did find himself humming it once in a while. He doubts he ever will again, not after hearing the woods whistle at them—growing louder as the seconds passed. The promise of gleeful violence all that more sure.

  
Chris draws his own pistol from his holster. Allison is truly scared now, he’s regretting leaving the house. At least the estate was defensible and familiar. He curls his free hand behind his daughter’s head, “Baby, listen to me. It’s going to be alright, okay? Whatever I tell you to do you need to do without question. Understand?”

  
Her huge brown eyes shine with unshed tears, she jerks her head in a hesitant nod and allows Gerard to draw her near with a firm grip on her arm. Her tears never fall and the old man doesn’t let go. Kate takes the left side of the carriage and Chris takes the right bracketing their youngest and eldest between them.

  
The melody becomes louder than the sound of the horses, so loud it almost sounds like its coming from inside, and then abruptly stops mid-tune. Chris pulls the hammer back on the pistol, he sees nothing outside except the trees whipping past. One more howl erupts over them and there’s no mistaking it for a regular wolf, it’s the half roar half howl of a werewolf.

  
Suddenly the carriage jerks forward, a enormous crack resounds through the whole thing and in the next second all of its occupants are sent hurtling as the carriage tips over into a half-roll. Pain pierces through Chris’ head, his world goes hazy and distant for an unknowable amount of time. The world around him roils. He can’t make out up or down but Allison’s sharp scream forces him to focus as best he can and choke down the bile trying to make its way up his throat. His vision clears.

  
Allison’s not in the carriage car with him. None of them are, Chris is alone.

  
“This isn’t what we agreed!” His father voice tries to roar only he ends up in hacking coughing fit, he hears Gerard gasping, “Katherine! You ungrateful, girl! Don’t you dare leave me!”

  
Shots fire, Chris can just make out the beat of hooves speeding away. He knows it was Kate, Kate abandoned them. He hopes, prays to whatever will listen, that maybe his sister had grabbed Allison and took her to safety. Kate’s the fastest rider he’s ever seen she could…those thoughts are dashed as soon as he’s able to crawl out of the wreckage.

  
Allison is bleeding in the arms of someone—something. Unconscious.

  
The carriage driver is sliced open hanging off the driver’s seat where he’s still strapped in. The horses have ripped off from the main part of the carriage, they seemed more or less okay, one is missing. His father is on his knees and Kate is nowhere in sight.

  
They are surrounded by them, four, two wore intimidating wolf masks wrought from dull metal with harsh lines that protected their heads all the way down the skull but left the mouths and jaws exposed. The other two have more slender statures and wear fox masks in the same sharp styles, one in bronze the other in tarnished silver. All of the figures donned the dark leather of their trade, assassin’s gear.

  
One of the wolves sports a long black coat with a high collar decorated in a fashion a noble man would prefer rather than a killer. The other taller wolf is the one who holds Allison in a relaxed bridal’s carry while the foxes carry strange looking swords. The wolves themselves seem to have no weapons at all.

  
Gerard scoots forward on his knees, the great Argent patriarch begging at the feet of wolves. Fuck, Chris can’t believe his father was right. A pack of assassins. The wolf in the coat cocks his head at the scene before him, through cut out of eyes in the mask red glows like hot coals. Fucking hell. An alpha. One that seems to enjoy watching the old man go on trying to barter for his life. Chris is out-numbered and out-gunned, the enemy has his daughter.

  
He has no idea what to do, so fucking helpless.

  
“The contract!” Gerard spits blood-tinged phlegm, “I’ve read it! An Argent. That’s all it called for, no name! Take the girl and leave me be! I’ll not try to retaliate. You have my word!”

  
The silver fox tips it head back and lets out a bright masculine cackle. The wolf holding his daughter huffs, an insanely mundane reaction that makes Chris’ already burning blood boil.

  
The wolf in the coat doesn’t move his gaze from Gerard to look at his companions rather he stays intent on the old man. Chris can make out a smirk playing on the wolf’s mouth as Gerard repeats and repeats himself. Chris wants to shoot his father in the back of the head and be done with it. Traitor. Selfish bastard. All the times Gerard had accused Chris of being the same toting blood and duty above all else. Gerard had been suspicious and Chris had just gone with it, like he always did—a blind toy soldier.

  
Yes, he can shoot Gerard, stop whatever deal he may strike up and have time to get off another round or to before—Chris had barely moved his arm to aim and in a split second the bronze fox has his arm pinned under a boot and the tip of a sword pressed against his jugular.

  
For the first time Chris gains the attention of those fiery red eyes. The wolf stares at him as it raises its hand covered in a strange wickedly clawed crisscrossing gauntlet then brings it down too fast for the eye to see across Gerard’s throat nearly decapitating him. Blood spews forth, the wolf doesn’t move out of the crimson spray.

  
Chris Argent has never begged in his life. Not once. For his daughter he’s willing to try.

  
He opens his mouth but rather than pleading the only thing that can come out is, “Why?”  
He wants his daughter to live, he wants to know who did this to them, and why. Why why why.

  
The fox moves away from him, making room for the alpha to stride over and lift Chris easily by his lapels. Hysterically he thinks if he and the alpha stood shoulder to shoulder Chris would be taller.

  
“Why?” The wolf whispers in a disturbingly soft voice, “Why not? Why does anyone do anything in this damnable world? For vengeance, pretty hunter, blood is paid where blood is due. That is the old way. Our way. No contract necessary. Not this time.” The wolf grins, mouth full of fangs and then presses that mouth to Chris’ own. Chris pushes the end of his pistol into the wolf’s jaw but doesn’t fire even as the kiss cuts his tongue and lips, he doesn’t know why. Blood streams in thin rivulets out the side of his mouth, it tastes of iron and ash.

  
The wolf drops him to ground harshly. Chris catches his breath, “Please. Please, don’t kill her. Whatever this is. She’s innocent. She’s just a girl!”

  
“Oh, we’re not going to kill her.” The alpha says flippantly, he takes a handkerchief from inside his coat and wipes Chris’ blood off his mouth. With his other hand he makes a flicking motion. The silver fox is joined by his bronze companion, they place their hands on the wolf holding Allison and in the next moment they all vanish in shimmer of black smoke.

  
The alpha smiles over his shoulder, “But there’s no such thing as an innocent Argent.”

  
“Allison!” Chris screams as useless as everything he’s done tonight.

  
The alpha ignores him completely and leans over the body of Gerard, in a swift motion he pulls the old man’s heart out then tosses it in the air and caches like a child’s ball before storing it in a leather bag he ties to his belt.

  
Chris blinks, the whorl of emotions inside him makes it hard to pin down anything he should feel, “You’re leaving me alive.”

  
The alpha turns to him again, the glowing red is gone, the black abyss of the mask is much worse to look at, “Yes.”

  
“If you leave me alive I will find you. I will track you all down. I will get my daughter back.” Chris swears. He swears on any gods that may be whether or not they answer his prayers. If a god tries to get in his way, he’ll go through them too.

  
The alpha saunters over and drops to Chris’ eye level, the next kiss is a soft and chaste little thing yet somehow crueler. The alpha hums, “I hope you do, Christopher. I really do.”

  
Chris is struck by something painfully familiar so hard he’s left breathless. He closes his eyes and when he opens them once more the alpha is gone in shimmer of smoke too.

  
The downpour that’s been predicted all night finally tears the skies open. The rain turns the road to mud quickly, Chris lays his head down in it and closes his eyes. His pistol his heavy in his hand. After an hour, perhaps longer Chris finally moves again. He holsters the pistol and slowly makes his way to his feet.

  
He has promises to keep.

 

 

  
End of Part One


End file.
